Takes place after dragon age origins/awakening.. Dragon age/Zevran belong to bioware... Meryn (c) Shaleene

Messing around with writing, new hobby let me know if something seems really off or what you think... or don't, either way... whatever

DA gallery of Meryn http: / shaleene1. Deviantart. com/gallery/31487688 remove spaces to see.

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Zevran sat at his desk and sighed warily as he poured over the scrolls and contracts laid out before him. He had come to Antiva to settle a 'misunderstanding' with the crows and to win the freedom of himself and his warden. He had worked his way up the assassin chain until he had killed their four highest ranking assassins. But still they would not relent so he did the only thing he could, he went after the guild master himself.

Zevran leaned back in his chair and looked out the window. He remembered that bloody day quite well, It was indeed a worthy battle. Steel hitting steel, the spray of blood as their weapons found its target. In the end Zevran had won, though it took nearly a week to recover even with healing. He had come to free himself, and in return, ended up the new guild master. Funny how things work out.

He could have refused but of course nothing would have changed, they would continue to hunt him until he was dead. But he had to admit that part of him relished in the idea. It was after all, every crows wish to one day become the guild master. In the end he had excepted, the lure of such a position was far to difficult to deny. It did however come with a rather heavy price. He looked at the darkening sky and visions of beautiful dragon green eyes danced through his mind. Those deadly eyes that could be both fierce and loving.

Meryn Surana hero of Ferelden, his beloved warden. A man able to make fire dance at his fingertips in the form of small animals to amuse bards, rain down bolts of lighting to devastate an army of darkspawn, or call forth a calming blue mist to mend a rogue to bold for his own actions. Zevran laughed.

His gaze drifted down to the lower left-hand drawer of his desk. Pulling it open he retrieved a small wooden box and carefully laid it on top of his desk. His fingers traced the words he himself carved carefully into the wood. He opened the latch and raised the lid smiling at the small tins of eye and lip colors. He had carefully chosen a dozen different shades, all of them dark in color, from black to midnight blue, to deep velvety purple.

He had bought them when he returned to Antiva as a gift for the warden. His warden only ever wore one color around his eyes and on his lips, and that was black which was sometimes rather hard to come by. Zevran guessed he only wore black because of a lack of darker colors in Ferelden. Women there tended to wear brighter colors like red and pink, Meryn's dragon eyes and fair skin demanded dark colors.

So he had chosen several he would like to see the warden try, along with several extra tins of black just in case. It saddened him to look into that box, as it caused a sense of longing to pull at his heart. It was not the first time he regretted his decision to stay. And until it was safe enough to have Meryn beside him, it would surely not be the last.

His hand slammed the box lid shut only a second before a young messenger boy materialized in his doorway with a sealed letter in hand. Zevran waved him in and took the letter laying it out on top of his desk. The messenger boy moved silently into a corner and waited, Zevran assumed that meant a response was required. A small grin pulled at the edge of his mouth as he read.

Hooded figure seen deboarding The War Dog 5 weeks ago.

Judging by the ships name they were mabari lovers, which meant Ferelden.

Recently started asking about blonde haired Antivan named Zevran. No names, lots of coin.

So someone from Ferelden wanted him hmm? Or perhaps coming on a Ferelden ship was part of a ploy. This person was either quite clever, or quite stupid.

Permission to take care of this little problem.

Zevran thought a moment, and then wrote his reply. He needed the distraction.

Permission denied. I shall take care of it personally, maintain distance no one approaches him without my permission. Stay silent.

He sealed his reply and waved the messenger boy over handing him the new letter and a few silvers. When the boy had left, Zevran laid the missive over the candle and watched as it burned. A Ferelden assassin, sloppy of course but then, it was Ferelden. Dog lords and mercenaries, oh well a distraction was a distraction.

It was easy enough to follow this Ferelden mercenary's movements, the mysterious man had become desperate in his search. Zevran had even watched from the rooftops a few times, this man had been literally running himself to death looking for him. He noticed the wavering steps and the increasingly longer breaks as he stopped to lean against a wall. He didn't know if he should pity the man, or feel honored someone would wear themselves down so much just for little old him. He chose the latter of course with a self-satisfying smirk. He also noted the man never removed his hood and kept his face heavily shadowed within. Meryn had shown him once how a mage might do that even at midday. So this man was a mage, interesting.

Over the next couple weeks he played his little game with the Ferelden,\. No one ever got a look at the man, he was always hooded and cloaked. It would have been easy enough to have someone just walk up and force him to show his face, but Zevran was enjoying this little dance. It gave him a distraction, a small one, but a distraction none the less.

He would watch from rooftops as the hooded man chased down false leads, some which Zevran himself had placed. He watched as the younger and far too brazen crows decided to gain Zevran's favor by taking out his target. Only to see them ripped apart by a fierceness he had never seen outside Tevinter. He began to wonder if this man wasn't a magister. Some of the crows he left in his wake would have been unrecognizable had they not already known who they were.

Zevran should have let the man kill himself with exhaustion, but curiosity had a way of weaving its fingers through his mind. He wanted to know what fueled the mans ire into such a blind rage, so eventually he set up a trap. A few well placed rumors and the man was hot on Zevran's trail. He had given explicit orders not to be followed by anyone in the guild, but that would only hold until someone got too eager to fill his seat as master. Which would give him about ten minutes alone with the man.

Zevran walked though the marketplace where he had told the little messenger boys he would be at a certain time on a certain day. Normally that kind of information would be tell tale signs of a trap but he figured the hooded man would take the bait. Muddled as his mind must be after seven weeks of endless searching. As Zevran strolled passed the stalls he remembered the bowl on his desk was nearly devoid of fruit so he decided to stop and grab some. After all a little fight shouldn't stop him from his necessary shopping.

As he perused the selection his eyes fell on the oranges and he was painfully reminded of the first time his warden tasted one. It had been dried but it had delighted the boy very much, he remembered how those green eyes lit up. Zevran chose the oranges with a smile on his face then continued on to his little trap.

It was easy enough to tell if he was being followed, if looks could kill the gaze that bore into the back of his head would surely have him dead in the streets. Whoever it was did not even try to hide their rage. Zevran turned a corner down an alley and set his bag carefully aside, it would not do to get blood all over it. He pulled the shadows in on himself and unsheathed his daggers.

…

The mage halted a moment, he knew it was a trap he wasn't stupid. As disoriented as his mind had become from lack of proper food and drink and no sleep, he still knew. The information he received was far to convenient, far to easy to follow, Zevran was playing with him. He pulled a sword from his hip and slid the point down his arm. His mana reserves had been all but tapped out for over a week, he had become to exhausted to properly recover.

But he had blood, blood is all he needed to rip that mans heart from his chest. It would probably kill him, he thought as he looked at the deep gash on his arm. He had bled himself far to many times this past week, he was starved and dehydrated and a bit delirious from lack of sleep. Yes he would probably end up dead after this, but as long as Zevran went with him he didn't care, he just hoped his strength would hold out long enough.

Green eyes flashed red deep within the shadows of his hood as he stepped around the corner into the alley.

He had only a moment to remember Zevran's favorite way to start a fight, barely sidestepping as a pair of twin daggers came down in the space he had just occupied. The right dagger sliced through the cloak barely missing his flesh. His arm began to glow an evil red as the blood oozing from it formed a red mist around him.

He threw his arms forward toward the Antivan, sending him backwards into the wall violently. Zevran his the wall and fell to the ground with a grunt. He was up quickly as a small smirk crossing his lips.

"So you do have a little skill, and here I thought you would be so easy to kill." he taunted the mage.

"I should hope so, you helped teach me." He growled from the shadows of his hood as his hand tightened around his sword.

"Did I now? I do not remember teaching any mage how to bleed themselves dry for revenge."

The mage brought his sword up in a long arch stepping toward the Antivan, Zevran parried it as the mages bloody arm raised, picking Zevran up by an unseen force and holding him suspended in the air. Zevran smirked as he willed himself into the shadows, forcing them to envelope his form. The mage growled as the stealth abilities of the assassin broke his hold. He muttered a quick phrase as the bloody mist circled his body, sending a shock wave out from his core, he didn't succeed in knocking the assassin down, but it did work in bringing him back into view. He stumbled on unsteady legs as he raised his sword to block a single dagger attack from Zev.

..

Zevran frowned as he noted the etchings on the blade, and the silver twisted vines in the pommel. He faltered in his attack only to receive a rather violent blow to his stomach sending him backwards and knocking the air out of him. His mind however was now on that sword. He knew that sword like a mother knows which twin is which.

Deep in the shadows of the hood the mage snarled, the bloody mist surrounding him began to disappear. It was too much for the mage, he was exhausted and his only regret was he couldn't take the assassin with him. His vision began to darken as he felt his legs give under him. Suddenly a hand caught his cloak and slammed him violently against the brick wall temporarily clearing his vision. But it was brief, as he felt the sword ripped from his hand and the hood pushed back from his face his vision clouded again.